From Good To Bad
by KatyNewt
Summary: A set of flashbacks telling the story of a section of Hal's past, from 1880 to 1916. Hal has turned his back on the Old Ones, choosing to settle with a group of teetotal vampires in rural France. But things can't stay the same forever and when war threatens, Hal is faced with an agonising choice...


**Disclaimer: I don't own Being Human, and I don't wish I did because it wouldn't be anywhere near as good as it is, and it would get cancelled when I made sure Damien Molony was in every scene!**

A one shot I somehow managed to write in a day. It's structured as a set of flashbacks telling the story of a section of Hal's past, from 1880 to 1916. He's a brilliant character to watch and write for, and I find him absolutely fascinating. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Warnings for a smidgen of bad language and some gore.

Enjoy x

**From Good To Bad**

_France 1880_

"Well, I can say on behalf of all of our members, the Resistance is happy to have you here Mr Yorke. Now, I feel it is time to make our presence known in the Great Hall. The others have been waiting patiently to meet you."

"I'm sure they have Lady Esther."

Amelia grimaced at Lady Esther's simpering greeting. It was pathetic. Did the woman not realise that she was embarrassing herself? This man was just another visitor, and yet the whole house had been thrown into chaos at his visit. The older vampires seemed ready to bend the knee, no matter their rank, while the younger amongst them were happy to indulge their madness, scuttling to fulfil demands and listening to stories of how the great Lord Harry had come over to their side, forsaking the rest of the Old Ones for a life of peace. They made it sound like a romantic story. Amelia failed to see what all the fuss was about. He was just a man after all. A man who had done terrible things in his past, but hadn't they all? His rank was of no consequence to her – only time would tell if his intentions were true or not, and life had taught her to be suspicious. It seemed the safest course when those around you were murderers and worse.

"Amelia! Amelia! Come here sweet one!" Lady Esther called shrilly from the hallway. Amelia scowled. _Sweet one_? She made her sound like a girl. She probably was compared to their guest, almost four-hundred years of age next to her own ninety-seven. She stalled for a few seconds more, wanting to be anywhere else. She could almost feel Lady Esther's impatience from her hiding place behind the door of the drawing room. Still, she had been summoned, and this was a great honour in the eyes of everyone else at least, if not her own.

"Ah, Amelia." Lady Esther crowed, clutching a dramatic hand to her bosom in relief at her appearance. "Mr Yorke, allow me to introduce Miss Amelia Howard. She will be accompanying you to the ball tonight. Does she please you? I can fetch someone else if you would prefer?" Amelia almost shot her an incredulous look, only just managing to restrain herself. It was bad enough that she had been forced to attend, let alone that she had been told not an hour ago that she would be the man's companion for the evening. She hoped he **was** displeased, then at least she would be spared his company and the inane chatter of the admirers who were bound to follow him everywhere for the next few hours. She chanced a quick look at him. At least he was handsome.

"That won't be necessary Lady Esther, she is quite pleasing." He smiled amusedly, almost sympathetically in fact.

"Well then, I shall leave you to become acquainted while I inform everyone of your imminent arrival." Lady Esther beamed, curtseying extravagantly before almost running towards the Great Hall, waddling as fast as her little legs could carry her quite considerable bulk.

"Mr Yorke." Amelia took her turn to curtsey. He bowed back, mirth still clear in his expression. For an Old One he was awfully... happy.

"Please, call me Hal. Excuse me for saying so, but you don't look as if you're particularly looking forward to the evening's celebrations."

"Oh, no, I am, very much so." He raised eyebrow, and she could see that there was no use in lying. "Actually no. I'm not. It's my idea of torture to be frank. Not because of you though." She added hastily. "It's the others. They're all very excited to have you here. Infuriatingly so in fact. I hope that's not rude." She felt herself blush.

"Not at all, I admire your honesty. I'm not exactly itching to attend myself. Never the less, the laws of society must be adhered to, and sadly we are in demand. Besides, I must make a good impression. Shall we?" he offered his arm courteously and she placed her hand lightly in the crook of his elbow. She might hate the stiff, formal procedure of these occasions, but she could be decorous when she needed to be. And he really was very handsome.

"You're hoping to stay for a while then? To join us perhaps?" she asked feigning nonchalance as she walked delicately beside him. Again he saw through her act.

"Yes. Does that surprise you?"

"A little."

"Because I'm an Old One?" he stopped her gently.

"Yes." She frowned, not sure if she had gone too far.

"I need somewhere... stable. The resistance seems the place for that."

"Stability? I suppose so. Some would prefer if we were a little more militant. It's our duty to right the wrongs of our past is it not?"

"Is that what you believe?" he asked, recommencing their slow walk towards the double doors at the end of the hallway.

"In part. We already take care of any vampires who endanger what we do here. But essentially we are a home for those who choose sobriety. We help those who want this life and have nowhere else to turn, and we provide sanctuary against others of our species who disagree with our beliefs. Whether that's enough or not I don't know. That's a question for our esteemed Commander of the Guard, one Miss Anna Richards."

"Your Guard Commander is a woman?" he frowned disbelievingly.

"Yes, is that a problem?"

"No, just surprising. And other than begrudgingly accompanying male guests to banquets, what is your role here, if you don't mind me asking of course?" He smiled at her mischievously.

"That depends. I'm pretty versatile. Most of the time I'm on guard duty, sometimes I'm an outrider, sometimes a nurse. It varies. We all fulfil differing roles here. It's not exactly regimented."

"Good. That sounds like just what I need."

They paused as they reached the doors to the Great Hall, both needing a moment to compose themselves before entering the fray.

"Ready?" she asked uncertainly.

"As I'll ever be."

"Just stick with me you'll be fine." She chuckled, feeling better about the evening already.

* * *

_France 1885_

Amelia frowned as she heard the raised voice of a woman further up the corridor. As she drew closer to Hal's door, it became obvious that the commotion was coming from his apartment. She grinned, wondering what sort of trouble he'd got himself into this time. The door suddenly flew open as she arrived outside it. Amelia backed against the wall quickly to avoid the flustered, enraged woman who marched through it, a mess of skirts and ruffled hair, having quite obviously dressed in a hurry. Hal came tumbling out after her, shrugging on a shirt.

"Cora..." he called after the retreating woman.

"And another thing!" Cora whirled around and poked a finger at his chest. "I am not your slut! You can find some other woman to share your bed, maybe her, if you like her so much!" she glared accusingly at Amelia, who was trying very hard not to laugh.

"What have you done now?" she asked him amusedly. He looked at the floor, and she was sure she he was blushing.

"He called your name! Well less called, more moaned! Make of that what you will. Good day!" Cora barked, disappearing down the hallway. Amelia's grin faded to shock as she and Hal watched her go in silence.

"My name huh?" she smirked at him after a moment. They both looked away embarrassedly when their eyes met.

"Yes?" he asked irritably.

"I bet you said that too..." she grinned. He sighed at her impatiently.

"Did you want something?"

"You know considering what you've just been doing, I'd have thought you'd be a little more cheery. Unless she left before you had a chance to..."

"What do you want?!" he shouted, cutting off her gasp of mock concern before she could finish her sentence.

"Just to see if you were ready." She smiled, deciding to stop torturing him. For now.

"Ready? For what?"

"Duty. We've been swapped onto the midday shift today. Had you forgotten?" He banged his head lightly against the wall in exasperation. "You had. Well, no matter. It's a good job you have me to remind you of your responsibilities when you're too busy chasing every woman for miles to remember for yourself." She smiled sweetly at him, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Indeed." He muttered testily.

"I'll see you in half an hour then. Don't be late."

"Amelia..." he flushed again as he said her name, the memory of his embarrassment still fresh. "Don't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?" she smiled reassuringly at him, not exactly keen for anyone else to get wind of his mistake either.

"Thank you." He said gratefully before returning to his room. Still, it didn't stop her from laughing about it as she made her way back down the hallway, stifling giggles.

Eight hours later, nearing the end of their shift guarding the main gate of the house, Hal and Amelia found themselves bored to distraction. It was important to keep watch, as the chateau was attacked every now and then by troublemakers who mistook it for an easy target, despite its isolated location in the French countryside. This usually involved vampires who did not agree with their choice of lifestyle thinking they could easily dissolve the group, or at least threaten it into submission. They were sadly mistaken. Giving up blood was not the same as giving up violence, and if anything, it left some residents spoiling for a fight when the occasion arose. They were passionate about defending their home, not least because without it, many felt they would have little hope of staying sober.

"Alright. What's your best memory involving the colour... blue?" Amelia asked, not really interested in the answer. This was something they did often to cure their boredom when they were on duty. As a result, it hadn't taken them long to bond, and they had become firm friends in the five years since Hal had arrived.

"You really want to know?" he asked after taking a moment to think, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Go on." She urged, knowing that look.

"It was the summer of 1790... or 91... or 92, I can't remember. Anyway, it was summer, I was in Florence and I had the company of a remarkably flexible ballerina..."

"Oh, stop! I don't think we need to go any further with that one. Besides, didn't we cover her a while ago, when you started a conversation about our most vocal past lovers?" she laughed.

"Yes, I believe we did, but she was vocal and she wore blue so... It's not my fault if she falls into two categories." He smirked.

"Dare I ask what you two are talking about this time, or shall I pretend I heard nothing?" They both jumped up from their positions lounging against the gate posts and bowed and curtsied respectively as Lady Esther approached. She had a habit of creeping up on them, though neither had any idea how she managed it, considering her size. She seemed to take great pride in being able to make them jump though, and they were sure she did it on purpose.

"Best not to ask my Lady." Amelia said, trying to hide a grin. She also always seemed to manage to catch them talking about something vulgar.

"Very well." She turned to Hal. "I saw Richard while on my walk. He visited Paris recently. Apparently there's been a spot of trouble between the Serbians and the Bulgarians. You fought in Crimea didn't you? Nasty business. Well, anyway I thought you might be interested. See you both at dinner, no doubt." She bustled off towards the house without waiting for Hal's reaction. Not that there was much of one.

"Nasty? A bit of an understatement." He muttered as they watched her disappear.

"How many wars have you fought in?" Amelia asked. They tended to avoid talking about these kinds of subjects, but seeing as it had already been raised, she saw no harm in continuing with the thread.

"Too many. Including Orsha..." he took a moment to count in his head, "fourteen."

"Fourteen! How have you managed that?" she stared at him incredulously.

"Well, aside from boredom and the occasional bout of pride... I'm not entirely sure. It does sound like a lot doesn't it?" He frowned.

"Do you like them?" she asked curiously.

"Does anyone like war?" he answered dryly.

"Says the man who's been in most of them."

"Don't be ridiculous, there have been hundreds of wars in my lifetime. I don't know, sometimes I suppose I did like it. It's a good place to be if you're a vampire. Lots of bloodshed and bodies, and no one really taking any notice of the odd disappearance." He licked his lips and swallowed. "I've had enough of them now though. More than enough. If I never fight in another war again I'll be a happy man."

"So. Do you think Clara will forgive you?" Amelia asked, changing the subject.

"Plenty more fish in the sea." He replied with a smirk.

"Hal!"

* * *

_France, August 1914_

"What are you thinking? What happened to you not wanting to fight again?"

"Things have changed Amy, we can't just sit back and watch the world falling apart around us."

"Don't you dare think that you can talk me round by using my pet name and that charming bloody tone of voice Hal!"

"Well what else do you expect me to do? I'm not going to change my mind, I'm going to fight and nothing you say will stop me. The war is coming to our door, the Germans are already sat in their trenches not fifty miles away, there's nothing else I can do. And besides, this is rich coming from you." He spat at her.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked warily.

"I know about your secret bloody meetings with that nurse friend of yours in Paris. How can you stand there and tell me not to fight when you're planning to go to the front line yourself?!"

"It's not the same as fighting! I won't be in any danger." She lied.

"Bollocks won't you. Have you ever seen fighting before? It's horrific, once you've seen it you'll never forget it."

"What so now you're trying to protect my innocence?" she turned away laughing bitterly.

"Is it so bad that I want to protect you? You know how much I care about you, despite the fact that you've done your best to push me away!"

"Push you away? Now you're just being stupid!"

"Am I? If it's not true, tell me how you feel, right now. It seems as good a time as any, given what we're discussing!"

"I feel like it's customary for a gentleman to be the first to declare his intentions! So, anything you'd like to say to me?" Hal looked at the floor, but remained silent. "Precisely. Don't bring **us** into this now. You've had thirty years to make a move if that's what you wanted, and all I ever saw you do was chase anything you saw in a skirt, so don't tell me **I'm** the one who needs to say how much I care."

Hal bit his lip, seeing that the argument wasn't going anywhere.

"The Resistance has already disbanded because of the fighting. We're on our own now..."

"Exactly, so we should stay together. You go to fight, I'll go too. It's as simple as that."

"Then we've both made up our minds. There's no point in arguing." He said forlornly, putting on his coat.

"Where are you going?" Amelia asked bitterly, wiping angry tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"To sign up with the army. There's no time like the present. The fighting will start soon."

* * *

_France, May 1915_

Hal tried to block out the sound of the man's screaming. Another amputation by the sounds of it, brought about by bullet wounds, infection and gangrene no doubt. It seemed that every time the screaming of one man ceased, another began. The by-products of a war that had seen huge advances in weapons technology, and few changes to tactics and defences that had been around for hundreds of years. This was death and disfigurement on a massive scale. He thought it was perhaps the worst he had ever seen.

He had resisted coming to the field hospital for as long as possible, but eventually he had been ordered by his seniors, and to disobey a direct order would be more trouble than it was worth. Luckily, his wounded foot had healed quickly, and he was determined that now that he could hobble, he was leaving for the trenches again tomorrow. Three days here had been more than enough. A warm spell in the weather meant that the make-shift canvas hospital was stifling, and the smell was unbearable. The blood was almost as bad. It was a constant struggle to stop himself from attacking every man around him, no matter how mangled and unsightly their injuries made them appear. He didn't know how Amelia did it.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, she appeared from the curtained area where the man had been screaming. He had stopped now, probably passed out from the pain of having a limb sawn off with the paltry amount of anaesthetic they could afford to give. Dwindling supplies in the last two weeks had meant that even the chloroform was being rationed now. He watched as Amelia stopped with a hand to her mouth, as if she was trying to stifle tears or wretching, or both. She rounded the corner to the nurses station. There was always something to do, which meant she could only be going there to seek a break from the sights of the ward. He reached for his wooden crutches and followed her, his limp almost gone now.

He found her propped against the doctor's wooden desk crying, but she still smiled at him through her tears when he pulled back the curtain to the station.

"Knock knock." He said as he pulled the curtain shut again behind him. He sat beside her, wincing as his injured foot knocked the table leg.

"You weren't kidding when you said it was horrific." She said, wiping her tears.

"No." He said sadly. "Are you alright?"

"I've been better. But then I've been worse too." She mused, seeming far away, deep in thought. She visibly shook herself back to the present. "What about you?"

"You know. Same." He nodded, not wanting to elaborate.

"So I've come to the decision that this wasn't such a good idea after all, being a vampire in a field hospital." She smiled, and he had to chuckle, despite the horror of their surroundings.

"No, I can see that. Does that mean you're going to ask for more shifts in the field?" he asked, already fearing the answer. He preferred her here, safe from the fighting. But she was exposed to copious amounts of blood all day and night, and part of him thought that was probably worse.

"Yes. I start out there again tomorrow. I can't stand it in here anymore Hal. It feels like Hell."

"You'll probably be heading out with me then. I'm getting shipped back to the front line tomorrow too."

"At least I'll be able to see more of you. Every cloud has a silver lining."

"I'm glad you think that. I'm not the best company of late."

"When have you ever been good company?" she joked, smiling at him. Their gaze held, and for the first time in thirty-five years, their lips met, in a kiss that said everything. For a few seconds they were back in the chateau where they met, and everything was alright. They could forget that they were teetering on the edge of catastrophe, caught up in the depression and hopelessness of a human war. That it was too late for them to ever really be more than friends. The regret of thirty-five wasted years stung them both as they parted.

* * *

_France, September 1915_

"Get back to the trees! They're advancing, another one-hundred yards, we'll hold them off in the woods until help arrives. The Canadians are on the way, they won't be long!" Hal's commanding officer bellowed above the noise of enemy artillery fire only a few hundred feet away.

"Sir, there's a medical team out there evacuating the wounded." Hal froze, not registering much of the conversation the two officers were having behind him after that.

"Well get them out of there, they should have waited for my command! What were they thinking?!"

Hal was running before he even knew what he was doing. He was vaguely aware of someone ordering him to "come back this instant soldier!" but he didn't care. He tried to tell himself it wouldn't be her, but he couldn't stop the dread creeping into the pit of his stomach. A shell landed too close for comfort, the blast almost knocking him off his feet as he ran, leaping over the bodies of his fallen comrades. Too many young lives lost. He was glad for the smoke and dust the shells had kicked up as he ran across the open ground they had conceded only hours ago to the advancing Germans, as it was the only thing concealing him from their waiting guns.

He spotted the ambulance on its side and sprinted the rest of the way. The vehicle smoked, spilt fuel mixing with the waterlogged ground making colourful puddles in the dank mud. He heard her groaning painfully before he saw her, the colour draining from his face. He half landed next to her, stumbling on weak legs overcome with anguish at the realisation that she was here and injured. Badly by the looks of things. He cradled her in his arms.

"Hal, go. They're close, you can't be here." She cried, trembling violently as shock set in.

"I'm not leaving you. Don't even try and argue." He mumbled into her hair. He looked down at the jagged piece of metal protruding from her abdomen, blood from the wound mixing with the mess of mud and fuel on the saturated ground. Around them, other members of the medical team lay dead already. Had she been human, she would have suffered the same fate already, and suddenly, Hal was glad for their curse. It made her stronger. It gave him a chance.

"You need to drink blood." He told her desperately.

"No." She answered firmly. "I'd rather die."

"Don't say that!"

"It's the truth. It's been fifty years, and I am not going back to that life. I would rather die." She reiterated, her voice growing quiet as her strength began to fade.

"I can't let you die. You're all I have." He told her, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Please Hal. Let me die." She whispered, her eyes barely open. He watched her slipping away and shook his head in turmoil. Whatever happened, he would lose the woman he loved. But at least if she lived there was hope.

"I can't."

He laid her down gently and ran, dragging the corpse of another nurse over to her. His hands shook as he pulled his pocket knife from his coat and slit the woman's throat, bright red blood spilling out onto the ground. He gulped, holding his breath to stop himself from gorging on the woman himself. He sat Amelia up again and pulled the dead woman closer, ignoring the sounds of the artillery fire coming ever closer.

"Please Hal." Amelia begged, opening her eyes to plead with him. He had always thought she had beautiful eyes, bright blue and perfect. He kissed her forehead and sobbed quietly as he brought the nurses' throat to her pale lips. She resisted for a few moments before giving in, gulping the red liquid down greedily. When she was sated, she collapsed against him, sleeping peacefully in his arms. He wiped the leftover blood from her chin and lifted her. He felt numb but he knew in the back of his mind that he had to flee the advancing troops before they were captured. It all seemed so trivial now.

* * *

_France, October 1915_

Hal sat quietly on his usual seat in the corridor, waiting. He had escaped disciplinary action, instead being awarded a medal for bravery after his daring rescue of the gravely injured nurse from right under the advancing German troops' noses. If only they knew the truth. It wasn't bravery that had driven him to do what he had, it was cowardice. And he certainly didn't feel as though he had saved her. She had been taken straight to a hospital on the outskirts of Paris, only the best for a woman who had risked her life to save others. He had been given leave to recover from what everyone thought was the onset of shell-shock.

In truth, he had saved her, physically at least. She had healed remarkably quickly, astonishingly so, according to her baffled doctors. In a world where victories were few and far between, they hadn't questioned it, only celebrated it. He had stayed by her side as much as he could bear. Until she had woken up. After that he had stayed away, at first not being able to stand the look of betrayal in her eyes, and later, not being able to stand what replaced it. Gratitude.

He stared straight ahead, barely registering the click of heeled shoes on the tiled floor of the corridor. She stopped infront of him.

"I thought I'd find you here." She smiled, but it wasn't her smile. There was no warmth to it. He looked away. "Must you be so miserable? Today is a good day. I'm leaving."

"Where will you go?" he asked bleakly.

"Away from the fucking war for a start." She paused. "You could come with me." He didn't move, and she took that for an answer. "Suit yourself. I hoped I'd see you before I left." She sat down next to him, closer than she would have before, her inhibitions diminished in more ways than one. "I wanted to thank you. You showed me the light, as it were."

He felt a tear slide down his cheek.

"Not this again." She rose and turned to look at him, pity in her eyes. "One day you'll see it too. When you do, come and find me. We could make a great team." She winked before walking away.

* * *

_England, March 1916_

"Harry! Thank goodness, I was starting to think you weren't coming!" Catherine bounded up to him and threw her hands around his neck, clamping her lips to his. He glanced up at grand house, still easily visible in the pale moonlight, and walked her further into the gloom of the pagoda before kissing her back fervently. She giggled when he kissed her neck, and usually he would have taken things a little slower, but he had been coming to these clandestine meetings with her for over a month now and his patience had worn down to nothing. He wanted her, and she didn't seem to mind at all.

After Amelia had left him, he had tried to stay sober. He figured he owed humanity that much, considering he was responsible for unleashing her on them. He couldn't face the front line again, so he had fled to England, back on British soil for the first time since he had last killed, thirty-seven years ago. Of course, he had had to be careful. He was technically on the run now, a deserter, and the punishment was death by firing squad. He didn't much fancy that, so he had kept himself to himself and laid low.

He had found Catherine by accident, in a club in Soho. She had been staying in the city with an Aunt, and bored and alone, she had snuck out of the house at night to see London for herself. He had been captivated quickly. She was a beautiful young thing, only eighteen, blonde curls to her shoulders, dark chocolate eyes, and a talent for mischief. She was just what he had needed, and exactly what he didn't. Her parents owned a house in rural Surrey, the nearby village the perfect place for him to keep his head down and indulge in his latest distraction. They had taken to meeting here at the pagoda after dark, and while she thought it was terribly romantic, he knew it was anything but. He was stringing her along, using her, battling his urge to kill her every time he laid his hands on her.

She moaned his name breathlessly, and before he knew what he was doing, she was lying limp, eyes staring up at him accusingly, her neck and half of her chest ripped open. He staggered away, falling to the floor drunkenly. His breath came in pants as he realised what this meant, what he'd done. The poor girl had fallen head over heels for him, and he had taken her life without a second thought. He hadn't meant to, but he had known exactly how this was always going to end right from the start. And yet through the guilt, it felt wonderful. He wished it didn't, but it did. There was no escaping it now. The inevitable had happened. Poor little Catherine was to be the first of many, many victims.

Lord Harry was back.


End file.
